Histrionics
by crazyidea-inc
Summary: Sybil saves everyone the drama of next season. YOU HEAR ME, JULIAN FELLOWES? I WILL NOT HAVE MY EMOTIONS TOYED WITH ANYMORE!


hormonal sybil would be amusing, no?

XXX

Matthew paced restlessly, running a hand through his hair.

"All that I am suggesting is that you should consider it," Mary said stiffly from where she sat on the couch. The library was thick with tension; the entire house ached with it, but there was no question that the center of the storm was here.

Matthew made for the door, stopped, started towards the desk, stopped, then slammed his hand against the bookshelf.

"You aren't listening," he said intensely, eyes blazing. "How many times have I told you? I don't care what they say; I care about _you_." Mary sighed impatiently, mouth set to prevent any trembling.

"You _will _care," she said in a low voice. "It's not as if they're lies, Matthew - everything in the papers is true. I've - I've ruined myself. I won't pull you down with me." Matthew pressed his forehead against the spines of the books, digging it in until he was sure the titles were imprinted on his skin. "I'm damaged goods," Mary continued. She sounded resolute and unruffled, which meant that an emotional breakdown was imminent. "No man in his right mind would want to marry me now."

"Oh, for heaven's sake! I have had it up to HERE with your histrionics!" a voice snapped.

Matthew whipped around. Mary shot up off of the couch.

Sybil, enormously pregnant and utterly enraged, stood in the doorway.

"Do you hear yourselves?" she demanded furiously. "Do you _hear _yourselves?" She flung her hand against her forehead, palm up in dainty despair. "Oh, Matthew!" she cried in mock anguish. "I'm damaged goods! No man in his right mind would ever want me now!"

Mary's cheeks burned bright pink under her sister's exasperated glare. She opened her mouth to retort, but Sybil plowed on, whirling on Matthew, who blanched and took an involuntary step back.

"Now, Matthew - _do _tell me why that sounds so _familiar_." Matthew shifted his feet, blank. "Oh, YES," Sybil shrieked suddenly. Both Mary and Matthew jumped, Matthew managing the extraordinary feat of looking discomfited, nonplussed, and defensive, all at once. "I do believe you _might _have mentioned something to the same effect _during the war_."

Comprehension dawned on Mary first; she whitened, eyes flicking unwillingly to Matthew. Her fiancé was slightly less quick to catch on, but when realization hit him, it slapped him flush across the face.

"Now he's got it," Sybil announced scathingly as red crept from his collar to the tips of his ears. "'No woman in her right mind would want to marry me now,'" she quoted, dropping her voice comically to match Matthew's bass. "Mary - listen to Matthew. You didn't stop loving him when he decided to be disgustingly noble. Matthew - this is painful for Mary, so _try _not to be so frustrated when she decides _she _has to be disgustingly noble." She threw up her hands in vexation. "You both are so dramatic. If anything you ought to be grateful - you are in the unique position of knowing _exactly what the other is feeling_!"

As Mary and Matthew watched, stunned, she made a noise of irritation, gesticulated helplessly, and swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her with an almighty bang. Almost immediately, she ran into a very reassuring torso; it belonged to her husband, who peered at her in concern.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. "I heard shouting." Sybil burst into tears, burrowing her nose into his chest.

"Why must everything be so _theatrical_?" she wailed. Gingerly patting a now positively howling Sybil on the back, Branson shot an alarmed questioning glance at Mary and Matthew, who were trying to edge out of the library as inconspicuously as possible and failing spectacularly. They shot identical expressions of _don't you dare say anything _at him, hastily heading for anywhere but there.

"Sybil?" he asked. His wife blinked wetly up at him.

"They are so _stupid," _she complained.

"Well, to be fair, most everyone of your station is," Branson deadpanned, only a trace of sarcasm slinking into his voice at "station." Sybil swatted his shoulder, eyes watery but narrowed.

"Perhaps," she conceded darkly. "But they seem to be especially obtuse, don't they?" Branson grinned.

"Definitely."


End file.
